


Amor Non Vincit

by Dispatches (orphan_account)



Category: The Wire
Genre: Community: choc_fic, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-10
Updated: 2010-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-09 09:39:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Dispatches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first choc_fic challenge. Prompt #14: '<i>The Wire</i>, Kima Greggs: Lookin' for love in all the wrong places - "Oh, how I wish that I could stop this D-I-V-O-R-C-E"'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amor Non Vincit

When they first started living together, Kima used to say it didn't matter that they couldn't get married: she and Cheryl were a pair of wives whether the law said so or not, and being a cop she knew (none better) how dumb the law could be about the things that really mattered.

Now she sometimes thinks she's lucky that the law doesn't see them as married, because if she wants to -- if the trapped feeling gets so bad that it's not worth the comfort of knowing Cheryl's always going to be there, waiting, warm and soft and still amazing even if she complains so much Kima's gotten used to tuning out the sound of her voice -- well, she can walk away. Leave Cheryl. Leave the baby. The baby's not hers by any law in the land, and she doesn't even think she'd miss him. She could walk away, and there wouldn't be a damn thing Cheryl could do about it.

Maybe it's that thought that keeps her coming back, night after night. She could walk away, if she wanted to, and knowing that she could makes it easier not to.

*

It's so easy to find a woman when she wants one that she's got half a mind to get a swelled head. It isn't the dim lighting in the bar, she knows, or the alcohol, or anything like desperation (because these women are not desperate, any more than she is; they are only hungry), nor even the tight tops she wears that show off her breasts so well. No, it's not about that. It's maybe something to do with the swagger in her step, the frankness in her gaze when she sees what she wants. They see what she sees, they want what she wants: easy as A-B-C.

More to the point, they see what she _doesn't_ want. Not love. Not the toothbrush that comes with the first date and the U-Haul that comes with the second. There are those who come to bars to find love, damn fool thing to do; love may be blind but that doesn't mean blinding yourself with smoke and booze'll make it easier to find.

Love may be blind, but lust has eyes, and when Kima goes looking for a woman to fuck, she never has any trouble, because she knows what she's looking for and where to find it.

*

She comes home. She always comes home, never stays the night. It's not worth it.

*

One time she has a little bit too much to drink after a night away and stumbles into bed with her pants still on, curling up against Cheryl, who is curled up around the baby. Maybe it's the sound she makes that wakes Cheryl, or the extra warmth in the bed; either way she wakes up and turns around a little, and pushes her away. "If you have to go tomcatting around," she mutters in a voice still rough with sleep, "do me a favour and take a shower first."

She turns back around and goes back to sleep just as if she hadn't said a word. Kima can feel the heaviness in her limbs and she knows she's not really sober, but she doesn't feel drunk. She feels like she just got slapped in the face.

She gets up, walking slowly, carefully to the bathroom, because damn, Cheryl's right: she _stinks_: smoke and liquor and sweat that's not hers.

She stands under the spray for a long time, leaning on the wall with one hand, thoughts chasing each other round her head like dogs fighting over a steak: _I can't. I have to stop. But I can't stop. But it isn't enough. But she still loves me. But we don't even have sex any more. But if I'm patient. But I can't wait that long. But she loves Elijah more than me. But she does love me. But it's not enough. Not for me. Not for her. But I still don't want to lose it._

She turns off the water when she notices her hands are all pruny, gets out of the shower and sits down, still wet and naked, on the lid of the toilet.

_I'm turning into a man._

Fuck, I'm turning into **McNulty**.

She gets up and dries herself off, still moving slowly, though not because she has to. No, now she's moving slowly because when she's finished, she'll have to go back in there and lie down next to Cheryl and pretend to herself that she likes the smell of breast milk.

She puts on pyjama pants and a baggy T-shirt and gets into bed, keeping as much distance from Cheryl as she can; doesn't want to wake her. "I'll be good," she whispers to the ceiling, listening to Cheryl's slow, even breaths. "I swear, baby. I'll be good. I won't go dogging around no more."

Cheryl keeps breathing, and the baby snuffles and shifts in his sleep, and Kima stares at the ceiling and tries to believe that it's going to be enough.

[end]


End file.
